


I don't feel like dancing (except for when I do)

by arihime



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M, Reluctant Dancer Felix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:06:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25633282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arihime/pseuds/arihime
Summary: Felix dances on the eve of the army’s march to Enbarr. Reluctantly. After much persuasion.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 14
Kudos: 77
Collections: Enabler's Gift Exchange





	I don't feel like dancing (except for when I do)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ellisama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellisama/gifts).



> Gift fic for our wonderful enabler-and-chief, Emma, for our Discord server's 3H Anniversary celebration. Thank you for bringing us all together all those years ago and generally spearheading our collective insanity while also being the sane one on occasion. 
> 
> The prompt specified dancer Felix, but actually getting Felix to dance was sooo difficult because the man is a surly cat. And thus, this fic was born. First time seriously writing Felix (and Dorothea), so I hope I did them justice!

The army marches on Enbarr tomorrow.

Felix knows this, has been present at most of the strategy meetings where the plan has been discussed and argued, yet the reality of the situation doesn’t hit until after dinner, when he goes back to his room. Since taking Fort Merceus, the army has chosen to make it their forward camp, rather than go all the way back to the monastery. Felix’s room is in the officer’s quarters, high enough that he can see people milling about under his window but cannot hear most of the sounds from below. He sits by the window as he tends to his swords, watching the inhabitants of the fort go back and forth. There’s a restless energy to their movement, like ants on the edge of a swarm, and Felix can feel it sinking into his limbs as he works.

They march on Enbarr _tomorrow_. Will be at the empire’s capital in a week’s time, maybe less.

In a week, this war will be over. One way or another.

Felix stands. He sheaths his swords and buckles his sword belt to his waist. He needs to get out and move before the restlessness has a chance to settle. Today is the last day he’ll have access to a proper training ground for who knows how long; best to give Fort Merceus a proper goodbye and get a good practice in at the same time.

The army has been stationed at Merceus for the better part of a month now, long enough that the walk to the training ground is second nature to Felix. Down the stairs from the officer’s quarters, then through the winding halls of the fortress. The Stubborn Old General is stubborn inside as well as out, hallways a maze to confuse any opposing army that somehow managed to break through the outer walls. Felix keeps his pace brisk as he nears the final turn, hands drifting to his swords in anticipation. This close, he can almost hear the sword of metal clashing and feet scuffing against the ground and. . . music?

Felix finds himself slowing without meaning to, feels his body turn in the direction of the sound. It _is_ music wafting through the air, the sound low and rich. There’s a corridor to his right that leads out to a courtyard, and the sound grows louder the closer Felix gets, until finally he steps into the low evening light.

Ferdinand and Dorothea are in the middle of the courtyard, Ferdinand sitting on a bench and Dorothea standing in front of him, one hand to her chest. There’s an instrument in Ferdinand’s lap—a lute, Felix thinks, watching as Ferdinand’s fingers strum chord after chord. The light strokes form a background to Dorothea’s singing, so low that he almost doesn’t hear them under the weight and grandeur of Dorothea’s voice.

“ _Shine, bright morning light. Now in the air the spring is coming._ ”

The song is nothing that Felix recognizes, but he stops to listen all the same. He is not the only one. Though the courtyard is empty, those who are around pause in their step to listen. When the last note of Dorothea’s song dissolves into the air, a faint applause breaks out.

Felix’s arms stay crossed over his chest, even as he walks over to the two of them.

“Ah, Felix,” Ferdinand greets, setting the lute down across his lap. “Did you enjoy our performance?”

“It was alright,” Felix says.

“High praise from Felix Fraldarius,” Dorothea drawls.

“Odd song to be singing on the day before a march,” Felix shoots back.

Ferdinand chuckles. “Yes, well. I suppose you’re right about that. Unfortunately, we’ve almost run through our repertoire.”

“Any Faerghan songs you would rather we perform?” Dorothea asks. “I’m always up for learning something new.”

“If you want songs, ask Annette,” Felix replies, though he isn’t sure how appropriate steaks and cakes would be on the eve of a march either. Regardless, “I’m not exactly one for singing.”

“Oh, that’s right. Dancing is more your style, isn’t it?”

Felix shakes his head. “I’m not one for dancing, either.”

“So says the person who won the White Heron Cup,” Dorothea says.

“That was years ago.” And it was also meant to be a joke. How was he supposed to know the professor would take him seriously and make him the representative for the Blue Lions? Dorothea had joined the class a month before; she was the natural candidate. Or hell, even Sylvain seemed eager for a chance to show off. But no. The professor had chosen Felix.

And then, despite all logic or reason, he actually won.

“So, I suppose I imagined seeing you dancing after we took back Fhirdiad?” Dorothea asks.

 _That_ was a drunken endeavor spurred on by alcohol, Sylvain, and some deep seeded relief at the sight of Dimitri standing before the people of Fhirdiad. Felix knew the war wouldn’t be over until the Empire was vanquished, but it was hard not to give in to the spirit of elation in that moment. Sylvain had started thumping his tankard against the table in a steady beat, humming the notes to a familiar song about Loog’s victory, and Felix’s body had simply responded, moving through steps that were half kata and half dancing. He can almost hear the music now, though instead of the unsteady, coarse singing of a group of drunk Faerghans, the melody is clean and clear. Sweet, almost.

It takes Felix a moment to realize that Ferdinand is humming _To Loog’s Victory_ , hand lightly tapping the out beat on the stone of the bench. He cuts off when he notices Felix staring.

“That was the song that you danced to back then, was it not?” Ferdinand asks.

“Something like that.” _To Loog’s Victory_ sounds. . . off, in Ferdinand’s voice. Felix doesn’t think he’s ever heard that song sung on key in his life. It’s not supposed to be a perfect aria, but messy and stilted and sung by people who are drunk on alcohol, victory, joy, or some combination of the three.

“How did that song go, Ferdie?” Dorothea asks, and she too starts humming the notes. If it sounded off in Ferdinand’s tenor, then it sounds outright wrong in Dorothea’s soprano, too clean and pretty to be recognizable.

“Stop,” Felix says.

Dorothea frowns at him. “What? Did we get it wrong?”

Felix shakes his head, unsure how to explain. “It just sounds. . .off,” he finally manages. Dorothea’s frown deepens, so Felix presses on.

“Besides, that’s something you’re supposed to sing _after_ a victory, not right before a battle.” There are superstitions about that even, not that Felix pays attention to things like that, but he knows there will be hell to pay if any of the Faerghan soldiers catch them even humming _To Loog’s Victory_ before a battle.

“So then, what would you sing before a battle?” Dorothea asks.

“Don’t know,” Felix says, even as the melody of _For Faerghus’ Honor_ winds its way through his mind. The words are hazy when he tries to recall them, tied up in memories Felix would rather not dwell upon. Besides, knowing what songs to sing when is something that a knight would know, and Felix is not—will never be— a true knight.

 _Ingrid would know_ , he thinks. Or Ashe. They’d lead the singing that night in Fhirdiad, voices rough but jubilant.

(Dimitri would know it as well—did know it, back when they were children who sang and ran about without a care in the world. The last time Felix heard Dimitri sing _For Faerghus’ Honor—_ the last time Felix sang it himself— was before Duscur.

He hasn’t heard Dimitri even hum the song since.)

“Oh, come now, Felix. Surely you know at least one song?” Ferdinand prods, his tone somewhat hopeful.

Felix shakes his head.

Dorothea huffs. “How can you not know any Faerghan battle songs if you’re from Faerghus?”

“Not everyone memorizes all the music they hear,” Felix snaps, temper fraying. _For Faerghus’ Honor_ rises up again in his mind, this time carried by Glenn and his father’s voices. For a moment, he remembers Glenn lifting him up onto his shoulders as they watched their father ride out on the Sreng campaign with King Lambert, belting the song at the top of their lungs—

Felix quashes the memory and buries it where it belongs. His father is dead. _Glenn_ is dead. There’s no point in dwelling on songs or sentiments when there’s a battle on the horizon. All that matters is living to fight another day, and no song will help that.

“Why are you so caught up on Faerghan songs, anyway?” Felix asks. “Surely Adrestia should have some of their own.”

Ferdinand flinches, bowing his head so that his hair shadows his face. Dorothea glances at Ferdinand, then turns to glare at Felix.

“Now just because—” she starts, voice rising. She cuts off when Ferdinand reaches out and lays a hand on her arm.

“It’s alright, Dorothea,” he says.

“But Ferdie. . .”

Something unspoken passes between the two, a conversation in meaningful glances that Felix doesn’t care to read. He’s about to walk away when Ferdinand looks up at him.

“We— _Adrestia_ does have battle songs,” Ferdinand says slowly, wincing at his slip of the tongue. “But I—”

“We,” Dorothea says.

“We thought it would be inappropriate, to sing an Adrestian battle song on the eve of the march to Enbarr.”

A retort springs to Felix’s tongue on instinct, but he bites it down. Again with the superstitions, though he can’t exactly blame them for this one. For all that the army plays at being a cohesive unit, for all that Dimitri talks about forgiveness and unity, there are some that cannot forgive Adrestia—or any Adrestians—for their country’s part in the war, for subjugating Faerghus for five years. He doubts any of the regular army would even know what an Adrestian battle song sounds like—Felix certainly doesn’t—but still, better not to tempt fate when they are so close to the end.

“There is one Faerghan song I know,” Dorothea says, breaking the uncomfortable silence that has settled around them. “Well, not a song really. I heard it on the march to Fhirdiad.”

She closes her eyes and places a hand to her chest in a diva’s pose, then starts to sing. There are no words, but the notes she lets out are low and haunting, reverberating through the courtyard and echoing out into the hallways.

Felix bursts out laughing.

“That’s not a Faerghan song,” he says between breaths.

Dorothea cut off to glare at him. “Oh no? Then what is it?”

“It’s to call cows down from the mountains.”

Dorothea blinks at him, then turns over her shoulder to share a look with an equally bemused Ferdinand.

“How—”

“Hey, did I hear kulning just now?” Sylvain asks, coming up behind Felix.

Felix starts laughing harder, and a second later, he hears Ferdinand’s light chuckle join him. Dorothea snorts.

“What’s so funny?” Sylvain asks, glancing between the three of them.

Felix is too busy laughing to answer him, but not so busy that he doesn’t catch Dorothea’s smirk.

“Ferdie and I were trying to convince Felix to dance for us,” she declares.

“Now that would be a fun sight,” Sylvain says. He turns to Felix and grins broadly.

All of Felix’s mirth vanishes. He straightens and glares at Sylvain. “No.”

“Come on, Fee. You are the company dancer, after all.”

“Am not.” A company dancer is supposed to go around dancing to help boost morale, and Felix can think of no job more ill-suited for him, certificate from the White Heron Cup or no certificate. He’s said as much to the professor the few times she’s brought up the same point, matching her stare for stare until she let the point go.

A staring match will not deter Sylvain, however. Nor will any of the points he’s already brought up to Dorothea and Ferdinand.

“Besides,” Sylvain says, completely ignoring Felix. “You have the outfit and everything.”

That outfit. He’d shoved it under his bed after he’d gotten it, and had expected that it would be destroyed with the rest of the monastery when the Imperial army invaded. Imagine his surprise when he came back five years later to find it still waiting where he left it, pristine if a little dusty.

(Imagine his further surprise when he realized it still fit. . .)

“I don’t have the outfit. I left it back at the monastery,” Felix says, hoping that will be the end of this discussion.

“You don’t need a specific outfit to dance in,” Dorothea says. “You just have to let the music carry you.” She starts humming a tune, swaying her hips to the beat. She steps forward towards him, and Felix takes an instinctive step back before his brain catches up with him. The next time Dorothea steps towards him, he holds his ground. He recognizes the challenge in her eyes, and Felix is not one to back down from a challenge.

“Come on, Felix,” Dorothea coos. “Dance with me.”

“I don’t dance.”

“Ehh, I don’t know about that, Felix,” Sylvain drawls in that tone of his that guarantees trouble. “What about that time in Fraldarius?”

Felix jolts. He’d almost forgotten about that. It had been the third attack by the Empire on Fraldarius territory, a long battle that saw losses on both sides. The troops had been flagging, and for all that Felix talks about working alone, he knows the importance of keeping up troop morale. He’d meant to give a speech, at first, but then one of the soldiers had struck up a tune on a lute, and Felix had figured that dancing was better than a speech.

“How do you know—?”

Sylvain winks at him, which is very much not an answer.

“And then there was that time in Fhirdiad. . .”

“That was _your_ fault!”

“Hey, I’m not the one who made you dance, Felix. You did that all on your own.”

“Because you—”

“Dancing aside,” Ferdinand starts, cutting over their bickering. “There is the matter of what he would dance to. Dorothea and I were asking about Faerghan battle songs, but Felix said he didn’t know any.”

“No way,” Sylvain says, staring at Felix in disbelief. “He has to know _For Faerghus’ Honor._ Everyone knows that.”

“Sylvain—”

“ _For Faerghus’ Honor_?” Dorothea repeats. “How does it go?”

Sylvain starts the song, half singing and half chanting, his voice rough along the notes. By the second refrain, Ferdinand has started to tap the beat, and Dorothea is humming along harmonies.

No one is paying any attention to Felix, so he takes the moment to slowly tiptoe back before any of them can bring up the stupid dancing notion again. One step, two steps— Sylvain reaches the end of the song and starts overs, and now Dorothea is trying to pick up the words. Three, four—Felix feels the shadow of the walkway fall over him, and turns to bolt into the hallway—

He runs into something hard and unyielding, and stumbles back. Hands reach out to steady him at a same time a familiar voice floats over his head.

“Felix, are you alright?” Dimitri asks. “Forgive me, I didn’t see you there.”

Of course. _Of course_ , Dimitri would appear when they started singing _For Faerghus’ Honor_. Since he decided to be a man rather than a beast, he’s become Faerghus’ honor incarnate. And not just Dimitri, either. Ingrid hovers behind him, and Felix wouldn’t be surprised if Ashe appeared in the next few moments as well.

Felix jerks out of Dimitri’s grasp. “I’m fine,” he grumbles, stepping back. There’s no squeezing past Dimitri’s bulk into that hallway, so he turns and—

“Oh no, don’t think you’re getting out of this that easily,” Dorothea says, latching onto his arm. In the same breath, she turns and gives a dazzling smile to Dimitri and Ingrid.

“Your Highness, Ingrid! You’re just in time! Sylvain is teaching Ferdie and me a Faerghan song, and Felix is going to dance for us. You should join us.”

“He is?” Ingrid says, disbelief in the words.

“He is?” Dimitri, in comparison, sounds more surprised. “Forgive us for interrupting, in that case.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Hey Ingrid, do you remember how the second verse to _For Faerghus’ Honor_ goes?” Sylvain calls out. “I keep getting stuck after the line about _Blaidydd blue._ ”

“How can you not know how it goes?” Ingrid demands, stomping off the walkway towards Sylvain as if him not knowing the lyrics was a personal affront to her. Which, knowing Ingrid, it probably was.

“You should join us as well, Your Highness,” Dorothea says. “I’m sure you know a bunch of Faerghan songs, since you’re the king and all.”

“I—I’ve never been very good at music,” Dimitri says, and Felix recognizes the stutter in his voice as childhood memories and impulse being pushed down. “And besides, Ingrid likely knows more than I do.”

“Well, if you insist,” Dorothea says. She gives Felix a warning glance— _Don’t you dare run off again—_ before she releases his arm and goes sauntering off after Ingrid.

Freed, Felix starts to inch back again, only stopping when he feels Dimitri’s eyes—eye—on him.

“What?”

“Are you really going to dance, Felix?” Dimitri asks, sounding surprisingly bashful.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Felix grumbles.

“Ah.” Now Dimitri sounds _disappointed_.

Felix stares at him until Dimitri ducks his head. “What?” he asks again.

“It’s nothing. I simply remember your performance in Fhirdiad. It was. . . rather breathtaking,” Dimitri says, and Felix doesn’t think he’s imaging the blush that creeps up Dimitri’s face.

Felix wishes that the warm feeling that settles in his gut at the words was part of his imagination. Or the sudden urge that makes him ask, “You want to see me dance?”

“Only if you wish to!” Dimitri says immediately. “You needn’t do anything for my sake.”

Felix glances across the courtyard, to Dorothea and Ferdinand trying to perfect their rendition of _For Faerghus’ Honor_ , and Ingrid and Sylvain coaching them, to the people gathering at the edge of the courtyard, drawn by the sounds of singing and familiar music.

His hand floats down to the hilt of his sword and, after a few moments of hesitation, he starts tapping out the beat to _For Faerghus’ Honor_. It’s more calming than it should be. He can imagine himself moving in time to that beat, to those lyrics, letting himself get lost in the song he’s heard since his childhood. . .

“Hold these,” Felix says, unbuckling his swords and handing them to Dimitri. Part of him wants to keep them, but if he’s going to do this, he’s going to do it _right_ and having all the weight on one side will just unbalance him.

Dimitri fumbles for a moment before he gets a grip on the swords. “Felix. . . ?”

Felix doesn’t answer. He pivots on his heels and marches to the center of the courtyard. Sylvain startles as he passes, but Dorothea simply gives him a large, knowing grin and nudges Ferdinand.

“Let’s get this over with,” Felix says.

“Well Felix, I didn’t know you were so eager to dance,” Dorothea teases, and Felix almost stomps off again then and there. The only thing that stops him is the fact that Dimitri is still watching, and Ingrid as well, both with varying looks of surprises on their faces.

(Meanwhile, Sylvain just looks smug.)

“Do you think you have it, Ferdie?” Dorothea asks.

Ferdinand nods, strumming a few bars for Dorothea’s approval.

She smiles, then turns back to Felix. “Whenever you’re ready.”

He’s not doing this for army morale, Felix thinks as he gets into a comfortable starting position. Nor because of Dorothea’s insistence. Really, Felix cannot articulate _why_ he didn’t take the chance to flee while Dorothea was distracted with Ingrid, but he knows it’s because he wants to do this, because dancing is as good a work out as going through sword forms.

(Because of the hopeful look in Dimitri’s eye when he asked if Felix was going to dance.)

“Ready.”

Ferdinand starts, the notes that he plucks gentle and light, a clear prelude to something more. Dorothea joins him a moment later, her voice high and clear and without words.

Felix lets the music flow over him, feeling the beat and the cadence of Dorothea’s voice. It’s a rendition of _For Faerghus’ Honor_ he’s never heard before, Faerghan notes smoothed out by an Adrestian melody and an Adrestian singer. Familiar and foreign all at once. Felix raises his arms above his head as Dorothea crests to the peak of the song, the words flowing through his mind even though Dorothea’s is simply singing notes, a final intro before the main event. She cuts off, and Ferdinand fills in the rest, looping back around to the beginning of the song.

Felix starts the countdown in his mind, tapping his foot to keep time.

Three, two, one—

“ _For Faerghus’ honor we raise our blades._ ”

Felix raises onto his tip toes, stretching his body out and bringing his hands together as if holding a sword aloft. There is no thinking behind his movement, no planning. He simply feels the music and the notes, the lyrics. Feels the excitement and surprise of the crowd around him. Their faces blur as he spins, rising up on one leg, but he can hear the pleased gasps around him, some voices standing out more than others.

Felix dances, and the world falls away. He lets the music carry him, putting extra force into his movements when Ferdinand’s tenor intertwines with Dorothea’s soprano. And then another voice joins them, a bit lower, and less polished, but no less enthusiastic. Sylvain, smirking as Felix turns towards them. Felix rolls his eyes, rolls away from the group even as Ingrid begins to sing as well. More voices join, until the song echoes through the courtyard walls and through the fort itself. And Felix—Felix keeps dancing, waiting, listening, for the one voice that he hasn’t heard since he was a child. And when it does come, quiet and tentative, he finds himself smiling.

Dimitri blushes when Felix catches his eye, but he doesn’t stop singing. The song carries on, cresting once more, all the voices swelling up as one. Felix goes into a series of turns around the courtyard, as if trying to wrap the music and the singers together, swirling them all together until the voices are almost indistinguishable from each other.

The last line of the song pierces the air, echoing through the courtyard.

“ _For Faerghus’ Honor we will fight on._ ”

For a moment, there is silence. Felix stands in the middle of the courtyard, chest heaving, the sound of his breathing loud to his own ears. Then, like the start of a summer rain, then clapping begins, slow at first then all at once. Dorothea gives a wide grin and bows elegantly to her audience, then tugs Ferdinand up so he can bow as well. She reaches for Ingrid a moment later. Ingrid shakes her head, but she’s smiling wider than Felix has seen her smile in a while.

A shadow falls over him, and he isn’t surprised to see Dimitri standing in front of him. Felix cranes his head up to look at him, and wonders, not for the first time, why Dimitri had to be so damn tall.

“That was amazing, Felix,” Dimitri breaths, holding Felix’s swords out as if they were a bouquet.

Felix says nothing as he takes his swords back, trying to calm the heat rising to his face. The flush is from exertion, he reasons, not because Dimitri is looking at him with undisguised awe.

When he chances a glance back at Dimitri, the look is still there, mixed with something that might be fondness.

“. . .thank you,” Felix says after a moment. Then, “You sang.”

“Ah yes,” Dimitri says, confusion crossing his features. “Everyone else was. . . Was I not supposed to?”

Felix shakes his head. “No, it’s fine. You just. . . surprised me, that’s all.”

Nine years since he’s heard Dimitri sing. If Felix is honest with himself, he never thought he would hear Dimitri sing again. He didn’t realize how much he missed Dimitri’s voice until now, rough though it may be.

“Well, Felix,” Dorothea says, coming up to them. “Looks like you do dance after all.”

Felix shrugs. “Only to the right music.”

**Author's Note:**

> The first song that Dorothea sings is _Fake Wings_ from .hack//sign. The words to _For Faeghus' Honor_ , on the other hand, I just made up.


End file.
